After the Island
by PineconedOwl
Summary: Roger's life after the island, hence title. Roger ends up killing someone who greatly deserves it, but what happens after that, he's a wanted 11 year old, you don't get that often. Violence, mainly in 1st chapter.
1. Chapter 1

Hullo! After a while, I finally mustered up enough courage to post a story. So here it is, not sure if i'm going to continue. I may if I have time..which I don't really seem to have a lot of lately. Sorry if his dad is kind of weird, I wasn't really sure what to make him say...

anyway I hope you like it!

---

Roger sat on the floor across the room from his horrid parents, the patter of the rain on a window behind him. Their venomous eyes not leaving their ominous son, whose dark bangs covered his dismal eyes. They never liked him; often telling him to make himself lost, or be done with himself, or whatever cutting remark they could make. His father's fiery eyes bore into his son. His father was a tall, bulky man, someone not to be reckoned with. His mother was skinny and frail, but her icy glares were threatening.

"You're a monster and a filthy, little murderer!" spat his father, "you're going to get it." Acid present in his acrid threat.

His mother, sensing hazards, left the room rapidly. Roger blinked down at the floor, listening to the rain increase behind him. His father skulked towards him with vile intentions. He grabbed his son's hair, it snaking through his finger, and lifted him up violently. Roger grunted and grabbed onto his father's wrist, trying to force him to let go.

"You've murdered two boys." His father growled.

"Yes." Roger snarled.

He threw his son to the ground, pulling out a few hairs. "You've humiliated us, and completely destroyed our family name." He kicked his son solidly in the stomach. Roger gagged. "You'll be lucky if you get out alive."

---

The quiet room lit up a piercing yellow, as the lightning exploded angrily outside. The blinding flashes highlighted the crimson, sticky liquid that ran from Roger's body. Most of it came from his nose and mouth, and he had a few cuts on his arms. His silent breathing was weak, the blood sputtered about his mouth. He struggled to get up, moving his arms and legs, and attempted to push himself from the floor, but it was fruitless, and his head landed back into the minuscule puddle. He sighed brokenly, and opened his eyes tiredly. He made another effort, and was able to get up on his hands and knees. He choked on the clotting formed in his throat, and spasms shook him. He got on his knees, and straightened out his back. He glanced around wearily, and staggered to his feet, his hair soaked in blood, and his face sticky and dry. He smelled of iron, and the smell carried as he tottered to the door. He took hold of the door frame, and limped to the kitchen, blood dripping from his mouth, he licked his teeth. He balanced himself on the counter, and looked around frantically, chewing on his lip. His normally monochromatic face grinned menacingly as he found what he was looking for. He took hold of the black handle, and pulled the thick knife from the holder. Lightning struck and he beamed at his sinister reflection. He broke off the counter and started to limp out the door. Something caught his eye. He gazed at the door, and at what was leaning against the wall. He sauntered lamely over to the door and dropped to his knees, running his hand down the thin body of his spear. He glanced from blade to spear, and blinked

---

The blinding flash outlined the contours of the awesome savage standing in the door way, blood dripping and spear rigid. Roger skulked towards the sleeping bulges he calls parents. Spear at the ready, he edged closer, easily maneuvering over the obstacles on the floor. His eyes raged, and his teeth gritted. His lips formed into a ghastly, snarling grin, as the bloodthirsty hunter became next to the bed. He watched in disgust as his ugly parents slept so soundly, so peaceful. He raised his arm back behind his head, pointing the spear at his father's neck. He took a deep breath, and tightened his grip. Just then the bed began to stir. Roger recoiled with a snarl, as he watched his father sit up tiredly. He put his legs over the side of the bed, and stared confusedly at his son.

"Roger?"

Silence.

"Listen here, get lost before morning, or else it'll be worse than before, and I can assure you, you won't make it out alive."

Roger stood, unmoving.

"Get out now!," snarled his father, "get out or I'll kill you here!" He stood up enraged, and charged Roger. Roger ducked to the side. He was used to unexpected movements due to his experiences on the island. He crouched, his spear at the ready, glowering at his father.

"Get over here." Ordered his father. "Now boy!" He stormed at Roger again, and grabbed Roger's spear, yanking it out of his hand. He kicked his son in the stomach, causing Roger to cough up blood on his father's ungrateful foot. Roger doubled up from the pain, reaching for his spear as he received a blow to the head. He fell back and against the wall, enabling him to grab his spear with his foot and passed it up to his hand. His father stormed over and picked him up by his neck, holding him against the wall. Roger started chocking as his father squeezed harder. His father moved his face within inches of his.

"I told you you were going to get it." Said his father with a triumphant smirk.

Mustering up the last of his strength, Roger forced his spear into his father's stomach. His father dropped him, and hollered in pain. Despite shortness of breath, Roger kept forcing it deeper and deeper, and put all his weight on the butt of the spear. His father staggered back, trying to escape the spike, but Roger followed, ramming all his weight into the end of his corrupted weapon. His father fell to the ground, blood sprouting from the mouth. He looked up dreadfully at Roger. Roger was wearing the face of true evil, grinning sadistically at his pathetic victim. A sickening crack sparked the end of his father, as he lay lifeless on the ground. Roger was panting, grinning, he started shaking with excitement. He looked up as he noticed an uninvited movement to his left. His mother was sitting up, frozen with horror as she witnessed what had happened seconds earlier. He looked at her, grinning menacingly and aggressively withdrew the spear, splattering the cynical blood in the process. He shot his mother one last malevolent glare, and stole furtively out of the room.


	2. Chapter II

**Sorry it's taken forever. Here's Chapter 2. Sorry nothing really happens at all, I'm kind of in the middle of a writer's block...**

**Hope your like it! **

**R&R maybe please?**

*******

The spray of the ocean was cold against his face. Roger shook his head, allowing water to fly from his hair. The gulls overhead jeered at him, as he jumped from rock to rock. He looked down at his bare feet, cut and dirty. His hair tickled his face as the ocean wind whipped about his face. He brought his hand across his forehead, in his best attempt to tame his hair. Bringing his hand down, he noticed a flash of color. On his hand were streaks of red, black and white. He blinked, questioning the colors. He looked at the water. A trail of red moseyed past, followed by a few small fish. He got down, hands and knees, on the rock. The water splashed up again, drenching his face in salted water. His hands automatically came up, in order to clean his eyes. He looked down at the water, and started. On his face were streaks of clay: red and black and white. It was running, his forehead almost completely clean. He stared with horror at his reflection, uncomprehending.

Behind him was a small rumble. He paid no heed to it at first, until it got louder. The water splashed around him, drenching him. He once again rubbed his eyes and the noise was greater. He looked behind him into the face of a boulder.

***

The lightning was visible behind his eyelids, the rain pattered on his face. Thunder growled overhead, Roger opened his eyes slightly. The sky was a light raincloud gray. It was morning, yet anybody was hardly out. He shut his eyes again. The ground underneath him was soft, grass. He sat up wearily, his whole body ached. He looked around, no one was out. _Must be early,_ he thought. He looked up at the sun. The rain had stopped and left him soaked, his clothes weighing him down. He blinked at his clothes, and once again looked around.

A few people were now visible, coming out like the sun. He looked up at the sun and squinted. He looked down the street. He hadn't remembered what happened once he had gotten out of the house, but he remembered what he did. He smiled to himself.

_Maybe I should go back, just to see what happened._

***

Hiding in the bushes on the edge of the circular driveway in front of the big brick house, Roger watched the policemen curiously. There were around eight of them, all in their police suits, along with some paramedics. A few policemen were scattered here and there, _collecting evidence_, he thought.

"He's young. He's not hard to miss, looks like a demon he does."

Roger started at how close the shrill voice of his mother was. He saw her not seven feet away, talking to a stout officer.

"Does 'e, 'ave any distinguishing features at all ma'am?"

"H-he's not hard to miss, really he's not. His hairs all b-black, and he looks like evil itself, his d-dark features 'n all." His mother stuttered out. Her face was red from crying. Roger licked his teeth.

"Any pictures ma'am?"

"P-pictures? I believe he's burned them all. He's not the dumbest k-kid I'll give him that."

_Don't lie. You didn't care._

The police officer sighed, "Alright ma'am, do you know anywhere 'e'd go. To a friend's 'ouse or something."

"I…I'm not sure he had any friends. He was extremely quiet, even at home."

"Well I s'pose we can get some information from 'is school."

"Yes, yes do that! He's a horrid child he is. Do be careful."

"We will ma'am!" he called back as he walked back to the other men.

Roger averted his eyes away from his mother, and towards the house. Two paramedics were carrying out the body. The white sheet on top was stained with blood. He could hear his mother's stifled sobbing, he smiled to himself. A scrawny police man started towards his mother.

"Excuse me, miss? Do you happen to have anywhere to go? A relative's perhaps?"

"Huh? Oh yes I do. Thank you."

With that she hurried back to the house, probably to pack her useless items. Roger watched the men work a few more moments, and backed away from the bush. He turned around and picked up his spear, just as a precaution. There was a rustle in the bushes next to him. His body became rigid, and he grasped the spear. He moved quietly over to the bush and brushed some leaves aside. He looked into two big, brown eyes.


	3. Chapter III

**Here's chapter 3! Sorry if it's slightly boring and uneventful.**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed!**

**The way I describe a certain someone in this chapter is how he is in the 1963 movie, hair color atleast. I'm not sure if that's his eye color, I never really looked, but it's how I see him, and since William Golding didn't exactly give us an extremely descriptive profile of said character, he's how he is. Although he does have the same 'joking' personality he has in the book. Sorry if he doesn't exactly live up to your view of him.**

**I wouldn't mind some constructive criticism either. Anything needs to be improved? I greatly appreciate it!**

*******

Roger blinked, dumfounded at the discovery of the eyes. Being eyes, they blinked back, a pool of chocolate highlighted with steel blue. Blonde hair fell in front of the eyes, dancing quietly in the wind.

"Roger, you should see your face!," the voice laughed loudly, "You look like a-"

Roger dove through the bushes and covered the loud, smiling mouth.

"_Maurice_." Roger practically hissed his name. He looked down at the boy below him (for he was sitting on his stomach). He had gotten a haircut, but nothing drastic. His face was clean and devoid of any dirt. He looked almost completely different than the boy he had gotten used to on the island, the dirty, savage boy. Although, Roger had always sensed that Maurice was different from the rest of them. Sure they were all bent on having a good time, but Maurice seemed to enjoy things more than the others. Not so much the hunting or blood, but the games, the swimming, the…socializing. (Roger scowled at the idea) But unlike him or Jack, he wasn't bent on destruction of Ralph's lot. He even had attempted to persuade us to go back and try to get Ralph to join us, to ease the tension between the Jack and Ralph. He liked them. He liked _everyone. _He always tried to make everyone happy. Why did he join Jack's tribe, Roger believed it was mainly for the playing, it's what Maurice liked to do, he liked Jack's idea, to have fun. _Where was Jack?_

"Rhawuh." Roger snapped out of his current thought and focused his eyes on the boy below him, his own hand still over the blond boy's mouth. He took his hand off his mouth and got off him.

"Roger, what are you do-" Roger clamped his hand back over Maurice's mouth, for he talked quite loudly.

"Shh, talk quietly."

"Why are-" Roger shot Maurice a venomous glare. He brought his voice down an octave. "Why are you hiding behind the bushes? Why are all these police men here? Why is your mother crying?" Why is she alone? Where-" Maurice stopped in quiet realization, "Where is your dad?"

Roger sat quietly, watching the policeman through the thick of the bushes.

"You didn't." Silence. "You did. Why?"

"He did some things."

"Well what things?"

"Some things."

"Come on, tell me."

Roger sat quietly, his unfocused eyes still watching the men in the yard.

"Honestly, I think you're overreacting. What did he say? He wishes you died on the island? I mean I know it's bad and everything, but really, why did you kill him! Did you even think of the things that would happen after? Now you're probably going to go to jail for life! Or go to one of those places, you know where they hold those insane people? You're not insane Roger. I know you, you're just…"

"I'm what Maurice? What am I? A monster?" he felt cold inside.

"A monster? No. You're not a monster. Why would you think that?"

"S'what he called me."

"That's why you killed him?"

Roger turned violently towards Maurice, tears pricking his eyes.

"Of bloody course not! I killed him because he tried to kill me!" Roger was nearly yelling.

Maurice sat shocked at his friend's sudden outburst. Roger never yelled at him, much less talked to anyone.

"All I remember was him calling me a monster for killing Piggy, I don't know how he found out, and then I remember waking up, covered in my own blood. But no, I got him right back. I took my hunting spear and drove right into his chubby flesh. He was much softer than a pig, it broke the skin easily. And the blood." Roger laughed quietly.

"Roger, you're starting to sound like Jack. Let's go, we best find you some clothes.

Roger looked at his soggy spear and waterlogged clothes.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure I heard some voices over there!"

Roger's body became rigid at the sound of the police man. For the first time, in a long time, he felt panicked. It was a new feeling for him, hearing his heart in his ears out of fear, instead of excitement and exertion.

"Roger, hurry let's go!" Maurice beckoned quietly. Seeing his friend wouldn't move, he grabbed his arm and pulled. They ran, staying low near the bushes without making a sound, a skill they picked up hunting pigs.

"Wait. Wait, Wait. My spear." He pulled his arm out of Maurice's hands, and despite the calls of the boy, ran back towards their previous hiding spot. He stopped meters from a police man, searching in close proximity of the weapon. Roger blinked, and looked for a distraction. He found one in something he knew well. He took up the medium sized rock and threw it into the bushes, a bit higher up the driveway.

Being the predictable human Roger knew, the man ventured off towards the sound, giving the generally monochromatic boy a change at the weapon. He grabbed it and bolted back to Maurice, who was waiting behind several large hedges.

"I was thinking about going back to my house? Is that ok? We can get you some clothes there. I know I'm a bit bigger than you, but hey, clothes are clothes" He finished with a grin unique to him.

Roger nodded.

"I know a short cut to my house, but we need to go 'cross the driveway."

"Look, over there, there are all the cars."

"Yes."

"We can sneak around behind those; no one is over there anyway."

With that the two boys slunk over to the cars with the roving lights. Roger occasionally glanced over towards the house, to make sure they aren't spotted. Maurice, being naturally curious, gazed into the police cars. He looked at the radio and he numerous food wrappers, he laughed quietly at the thought of the men stuffing their giant, fat faces. He walked over and the sun reflecting off the side-view mirror caught his eye. He looked in the mirror, and began to make funny faces in it, when he heard a small popping sound. He noticed Roger, on his knees next to the tires.

Maurice raised an eyebrow. "What're you doing?"

"Slowing them down." He muttered unemotionally.

He watched on for a few seconds as Roger dug a small pocket knife into the tires.

Maurice grinned. "Wizard. Where'd you get the knife?"

"They aren't as smart as society gives them credit for." He motioned over to the nearest police car. Maurice followed this motion to a car with an open door.

"Ha ha, evil."

Roger continued working on the tire.

"Well I am a monster."

*******

**Hope it lived up to your expectations.**


	4. Chapter IV

**Thanks to all who reviewed. Sorry if this chapter is boring, it kind of rambles at parts, but I hope it answers some questions? They aren't really big twists or anything, just answers. So sorry if it's a bit boring.**

**I'd really appreciate it if you reviewed, and answered a few questions for me:**

-Did they stay in character?

- Is it confusing at all?

-What else does it need? Any suggestions?

**I'd really like it if you did. This is the longest chapter so far, but nothing really happens. Just some clearing up.**

***

Roger snickered as the shouting, swearing police men found their cars in their handicapped condition.

"Wow. Roger laughed. Maybe violence does him some good. Makes him come out of his shell." Maurice, grinning, looked back at his friend. Roger rolled his eyes.

The two boys were crawling, hands and knees, along behind the stone wall at the edge of the property. Ivy vines came over from the other side, making a roof over their side of the wall. They could hear the police men swearing, and Roger's mother wailing something along the lines of "He's the devil spawn! He'll kill you all!" Roger smiled at this.

"A laugh _**and**_ a smile, in one day! Are you ok? Did you eat babies or something?"

Roger narrowed his eyes. His friend merely expressed his trademark grin. Roger got onto his knees and peered over the stones, Maurice tugged on his shirt.

"Be careful. If they spot us and we go to some detention center, I'm blaming you."

"Don't worry," Roger whispered, "The vines will cover us."

Roger and Maurice gazed over the wall and looked towards the house at all the panicky people. The police men were searching everywhere, under cars, in bushes. His mother was on the ground, in hysterics, a (what seemed like a) novice policeman attempted to comfort her. Roger bit his tongue to stifle a laugh. Maurice glanced over at Roger.

"Shall we go?" Maurice asked.

Roger nodded.

***

After leaving the vicinity of the house, the boys took off running about half a mile down the street. After coming down to a slow trot, Roger looked up.

"Maurice?"

"Yes?"

"Why were you at my house?"

Maurice stopped, keeping his eyes on his feet. Roger blinked.

"Why was I at your house?"

Roger stayed silent; he had no problem with it.

"I was at your house...because…" Maurice seemed to struggle with the answer. Roger stared unmoving at Maurice's face, as the wheat – colored hair danced around it.

"Why did you come?" Roger asked stoically.

Maurice looked at Roger.

"I came simply 'cause I was bored. I'm not sure what it is with people…why they think you're boring. I honestly think you're quiet entertaining."

Roger looked at Maurice, eyes unwavering. Maurice squirmed under his monochromatic friend's gaze. Roger blinked slowly, his dark eyes scanning over the other boy's features. Maurice bit his tongue.

"I was at your house…'cause I heard the noises last night."

Roger's eyes narrowed. He gripped Maurice's shoulder, his hands tightened. Maurice winced at his friend's strong grip, whimpering slightly.

"Why were you in front of my house last night?"

Maurice's hair rose, he could feel Roger getting angry. "I wasn't sneaking or anything, if that's what you're thinking! I just had to run an errand for me mum…and I just happened to be walking by your house..your father..was shouting things. I didn't clearly hear what he said, but I heard the shouting." Roger blinked, still cross. "And so I stood there, for a few minutes. I went into the bushes to see if I could hear anything, but then it started to rain, so I ran home." Roger dropped his head.

Maurice hadn't understood why he was so afraid of Roger. He was never afraid of him; they'd been such great friends…before the island. Before the island, Roger never got angry as quickly. Well, he did still have those anger problems, but nothing like this. Maurice eyed the boy's whose head was dropped, hair gravitating towards the ground. He was different, ready to snap, ready to hurt someone, and he was so indifferent to their pain too. Not that he wasn't before, but back then he didn't really care, now it's more of an enjoyment, hearing their screams and cries. Maurice's eyes made a sound like a shutter.

There was a faint muffled noise. Maurice snapped out of his daze and looked down at his slightly shorter friend.

"What?" he asked, batting his rye bangs.

"I asked 'why did you come back'."

"Why did I come back?" Maurice pondered for a second, oblivious to his own reasoning. "Oh. I came back because I was worried. I know you are usually quiet and everything when your father yells at you…but last night seemed different."

Roger looked down, dropping his vice from Maurice's shoulder. Maurice's hair stood on end again, signaling impending danger; Maurice decided to change the subject.

"Well we best be getting out of these clothes, eh?"

Roger looked at him, confused. "Eh?"

"Eh."

Roger blinked. He looked down at his soaking clothes and at his dripping bangs on his face. He nodded quietly. Maurice grinned. He put his arm around Roger's shoulder.

"Let's go lovely."

Roger glared. Maurice began dragging Roger down the street towards his small manor.

***

Roger stepped into the foyer of Maurice's brick manor. No one appeared to be home, and being a 'wanted criminal' and all, it was probably for the best. Maurice left the room, to make some tea to warm them. Roger looked around at the old entrance.

The stairs leading up to the second floor were red oak and fairly new. There was a chandelier hanging from the ceiling, illuminating the contours of the room. There were a few doorways going into other rooms, including one Maurice was babbling in. Roger remembered coming here often, but the demeanor seemed new. It's kind of what happens though…after you…lose your mind.

Roger sighed lightly and followed the sound of Maurice's infinite voice. He walked into the rustic, country English home to find Maurice rambling on about something, snakes maybe? Roger couldn't tell. He was focused on the tea, the smell of it. He hadn't remembered getting a decent meal, much less eating at all, after getting off the cruiser. His mouth watered slightly at warm biscuits that lay, sitting forgotten on the counter. Maurice turned with two cups of tea, and followed Roger's gaze.

"You want some?"

Roger nodded sullenly.

"Eat as many as you want, mum made them a while ago. She's not exactly the greatest cook, so I'm not sure anyone will eat them…not even the dog." Maurice laughed inwardly. He hadn't noticed that Roger had already downed one. "Bring that dish over to the table if you'd like."

Roger grabbed the plate by the handles and brought it over to the table, where the tea sit in waiting. He brought the warm tea into his hands, and shuttered. The warm felt comforting, caring. He brought it to his lips and drank slowly, letting it run freely down his throat. He gasped lightly after a large amount of hot water went do his throat. He brought the tea close to his chest and shook quietly. All the while Maurice was out of the room. He came back into the room after a few more sips of tea with black pants and a white collared shirt.

"I know it's fancy, but it's jolly great. I mean, who doesn't love dressing in fancy clothing? Here hold on, lemme get you a towel." Maurice dashed out of the room, and was back a second later with a large towel. "Now take off your clothes and wrap yourself in this for a second, it'll help, then put the clothes on."

Roger did as he was told. In a few moment he was completely naked, a towel around his. He dried himself quickly and slipped on the pants. He dropped the towel as he was putting his shirt on. Maurice examined Roger's twelve year old torso from where he was sitting. There were a series of small gashed along his back, as well as a large laceration going across the middle of his spine. Maurice winced, imaging the pain for himself. Roger slid the shirt on over his back, and turned around to button his shirt. On his shoulder was a small puncture wound and several more scars. Maurice watched.

"Boar?"

Roger looked up. "What?"

"Those marks, are they from that boar?"

"Close. My dad."

Maurice's face reddened a little, which was hidden by the low morning light.

"And the puncture? On your shoulder? And the gash on your back."

"Someone. Other than dad."

"Someone?"

Roger nodded.

"Ralph."

Maurice raised his eyebrows.

"Ralph?"

"Ralph. Well the puncture at least. When we were…" Roger decided against mentioning that. "But he…jumped out at me, and was stabbing, he got my shoulder, but then got off."

Maurice looked down, unsure of how to react.

"The large cut, from my dad. He brought a pocket knife into it."

Maurice stiffened. He vividly remembered the destruction a measly pocket knife could do.

"I think that's what did it… what made me unconscious…what made all the blood." He remembered waking up in a pool of blood. He was alright with blood spill, but he preferred it not to be his own.

Maurice, once again decided to change the subject.

"So…where'd you go after the violence and all."

"The park."

"Autumn Park?"

Roger nodded, picking apart a biscuit and forcing it into his mouth.

"You stayed there in the rain?"

Roger nodded, he'd _always_ been quiet, with a bit of a sinister feeling to him. Maurice watched Roger, with a twinge of worry for the stoic boy. He watched as Roger walked over to the window. Roger always had this eerie feeling about him…but it was different…it increased since the island…he's more..unstable? Maurice decided that was the right word. He watched Roger tearing apart the bread, before his gaze fell slowly to the table, in a daze. His focus came back as he heard Roger choking on the biscuit. His head snapped up, Roger was coughing insanely. Maurice got up and ran over to Roger.

"Hey, hey are you alright?!" Maurice looked at the boy who was coughing downwards, black bangs covering his eyes. Roger diverted his eyes up and outside, his eyes hard, darkened by the rings under them. Maurice followed his gaze. His eyes widened as he laid eyes on numerous police cars outside.


	5. Chapter V

**Sorry I haven't updated in a bit, i've been busy, it being the end of the school year and all. If you do review, can you tell me if it goes smoothly? Is it quick paced at all? I'm so weird with the questions, but I do enjoy seeing what I can make better.**

**The first time devil is mentioned in the is chapter, it's word number 666 :D**

*******

Maurice backed slowly away from the large, unsoiled window, shaking his head, his eyes wide in disbelief. Roger turned his head a bit, eyes shifting to follow his friend's quirky steps.

"No…no…how did they find us so quickly? How did they know?"

Roger watched, and, coughing slightly, peered around the tied-up drapes, to watch the police below. They were outside of their cars, not moving, talking to each other and casually looking at the house. Some were looking around for cars, to see if the home was obviously vacant. He looked back at his friend, who had now curled up in a ball on the ground. Roger rolled his eyes, Maurice always overreacted. He sauntered over and picked Maurice up by his shoulders, which drooped once up. Maurice shifted his gaze down at the slightly shorter boy, whose eyes pierced through his. He shifted his gaze downward at once.

"Are any of the maids home?"

Maurice looked up, then back down. "No."

"Maurice," Maurice lifted his eyes "how well can you act?"

***

"I'm not sure if this is a really good idea…I'm not really sure-"

"Don't worry about it, you'll be ok."

"I'm not that good of an actor, I was only in one play…can't we just-"

"No, we can't go. They've seen the drapes move, they know someone is home. If no one answers the bloody door they'll know I'm here. So you've got to do this."

"Maybe-"

"Maurice."

Maurice sighed, defeated. Roger smirked.

"I'll hide in that little secret room behind the bookshelf. Try the best you can to divert them elsewhere."

Maurice nodded sullenly as Roger moved off into the other room. He heard the bookcase door open and close. He sighed and went back to the kitchen, he attempted to make it a bit messy, how you'd expect an 11 year old to wake up. He walked over to the counter and picked up a small poppy seed muffin. He ventured back to the table and sat down, muffin in hand. After waiting for what seemed like hours, there was a knock on the door. He stiffened and sat blinking at the muffin. There was another knock. Someone was yelling through the door.

"Hello? Anyone home? Police." There were a few other murmurs behind the door, and some smothered laughing.

Maurice got up, the chair scraping on the floor. Clutching his slightly squished muffin (the knock half startled him) he walked into the fancy-manor foyer of the house. He stopped at the door, eyes frozen in fear, as if the door was some menacing knife-wielding stranger. The grandfather clock next to the door sat there ticking, mocking his heartbeat. He squinted at it. 2:37, his parents got home at 3. He whined quietly.

"Maybe no one is home."

"We could always knock the door down."

"Don't be so hasty. Wait a few minutes, I thought I had heard something scarping on the floor earlier."

"Maybe they have a dog."

Maurice cursed his parents for thinking him to young for a pet.

"If it was a dog, I'm sure it would've barked."

"What if it's lying in wait?"

"Yes 'cause a dog is smart enough for sabotage."

"Hey…it could happen."

One of the other police men scoffed.

Maurice took in air sharply, as he reached for the handle. He watched his reflection in the silver lined knob, his hand getting bigger and bigger in the small circle mirror, his head spinning, the ticking of the clock growing louder and louder-

"Hello there."

Maurice looked up into the face of a policeman; the one he recalled was trying to calm Roger's mom down earlier. Maurice thought back, and had no recollection of opening the door. He stared at the man, his eyes glassy, dazed.

The police man hesitated before talking to the spaced-out boy. "I'm Officer Audrey." Maurice stared up at the man, not registering.

The fatter of the 3 police men started talking "I think you scared him Audrey, poor little devil."

Maurice's eyes grew wider with fear, the only non-talking police man noticed.

"Alright, so like I said, I'm Officer Audrey, these are Officers Cleminse and Tyson, are your parents home?"

Maurice shook his head.

"Mind if we come in?"

Maurice shook his head again, and moved over stiffly to the side. The policemen walked in, looking around cautiously. While Audrey and Cleminse inspected the room, looked at pictures, behind things, inside the mocking clock, Tyson was eyeing Maurice suspiciously. Maurice looked back, as innocently as his acting mind would allow.

Officer Cleminse began speaking. "Have you seen a boy, by any chance?" Maurice blinked. "He's a little shorter than you, with jet black hair, a little sinister looking?"

Maurice repeated the word. "Sinister…? I don't know anyone like that."

"You're lying." Maurice jumped at how close Tyson had moved to him in such a short time. "You know him. Your mom said you two were often together."

"I-I-"

The other two other police officers had moved closer, the officer behind Maurice had both hands on his shoulders.

Audrey started talking, harsh, something you wouldn't expect from the joking man a second ago. "Listen. He killed someone. He won't refrain from killing you. Now tell us where he is."

Maurice scowled. "He wouldn't kill me."

Cleminse stepped in. "Of course he would, he's killed before, and he did it again, he'll do it to you too."

"That's a lie, Roger wouldn't kill me. You didn't know his father."

"As a matter of fact we did." Tyson, a tall skinny man, but unbelievably strong, picked the blonde boy up from under his shoulders and held him out in front of him. "Listen, tell us where your bloody friend is."

"He's-not-here." Maurice practically spat.

"He's telling the truth." The three men turned, and looked in the doorway, Maurice hung there, eyes narrowed and brooding. In the doorway stood an old woman. Her hair was broken and grey, and wilted on its roots. She had one of those white, bleached maid bonnets on, and a stereotypical red dress and white apron.

"Excuse me?" It was Cleminse. He did spit.

"He's not here. I saw him, I did, but last night. He was walking out of town, towards the city. He never came this way, or looked back. Now put him down." Tyson dropped Maurice, who landed with a thud on his butt. He glared up through his bangs.

"Come here Maurice." The woman motioned for him. He got up, glaring; his face red, and walked, head drooped, towards the old maid. "Well, he's not here, so you best be getting off the property, or I'll speak to the one in charge and have you all fired. Now be gone." The men appeared alert at the word 'fired' and took off out the door. Maurice looked up at the maid.

"Thank you Ms. Bayton."

"Don't thank me dear." She moved off towards the kitchen and began cleaning it.

Maurice rocked on his heels. "So…you saw Roger last night?"

"Don't be silly." Maurice blinked; she walked over to him and put her hands on his shoulders. "Of course I didn't see him. I'm not stupid," she smiled "I heard you with him earlier."

"But then why..?"

"I didn't say anything because there was no need too. Trust me, I know." Maurice looked at her confused. "Go get him, and take him somewhere. Here," she handed him a few hundred pounds, "for your travels." She put her hand on his head.

"But why?"

"Don't question what you're given. Now go. Don't worry, if you need anything just call this number." She handed him a slip of paper with multiple numbers written in clear, dark ink. "Now really, no questions. Just go, and be careful."

"Bu-"

"Go." She gave him a light shove. "I'll cover for you."

He looked back up at her, before stumbling out of the room.

***

Roger sat against the cherry oak bookshelf, the back of it dusty. There were various coats hanging from a small rack. He played with his charcoal black hair. There was the sound of running, and he lifted his head. Roger strained to listen. It seemed as if only one person was running, but he wasn't positive. Then it stopped. He blinked, and strained harder, tilting his head a little in the process.

"Roger!"

The bookcase flew open behind him, and he fell backwards, head hitting, and resting, on Maurice's upright shins. He lifted his head up a little and looked up through his hair.

"Roger!"

Roger groaned. "I can here you."

"Good. Listen, we gotta go. Now. Before anyone comes back." He moved back and Roger's head hit the floor. He lifted himself up and shook his hair a bit, to release any captured dust. Maurice stood waiting, grinning.

"What happened?"

"I'll explain later. Right now we got to go. Come on!" Maurice grabbed Roger's limp, unsuspecting arm, and dragged him into the foyer and out the door. Roger tripped on the first step, and Maurice laughed loudly. They started trotting down the driveway. Roger looked at the blonde, who was in front. His hair glistened, his head held high, he back straight. He looked like the epitome of happiness. Roger watched him for another second, before looking back. His gaze was drawn up to a second story window. There was a figure there, watching him. Roger peered into the eyes.

***

Ms. Bayton watched as the two boys ran down the driveway. She smiled at the happiness Maurice portrayed, skipping down the way. She then looked at Roger, who had stopped. She blinked, and he turned. He looked right up at her. His bangs danced gently on his forehead, blowing in one direction. His eyes were sinister, menacing, a hidden devil. She gazed at the boy, and waved.


	6. Chapter VI

**Ok, sorry I haven't updated in a while. Here's a short, poorly writen chapter. I'm going through the horrid thing known as a writer's block.**

*******

"Come on Maurice." Roger had his back against the glass, arms folded, watching the street outside. Maurice was talking to the woman behind the counter. They were in a store, a small pastry shop, Raven's Pastries.

"Oh come off it, I'm hungry. Anyway we need some supplies, who knows how long we'll be out in the wild. 'Sides, I don't want another scenario like-" Maurice stopped short. Roger turned his head and looked at him, slate-eyes waiting. "Well, you know what I mean. I just don't want that to happen again, so might as well be prepared." Roger shrugged, turning back to the street. He froze. A police man was across the street, talking to some kids. He was showing them a picture. _Of what, I wonder._

"Maurice."

"Hold on a sec." He was paying.

"Maurice.."

"Hold on!"

"Maurice!"

"What!?" He turned towards Roger, annoyed. Roger pointed out the window, and he followed. Maurice's jaw dropped, but he quickly recovered.

"Thanks and co-" Maurice grabbed the cookies, and made a dash for the door. Roger followed.

***

Maurice and Roger walked down the small wooded path, the sound of cars and civilization were nowhere to be heard, it was quiet, they were alone. Maurice sat down on the side of the road, and Roger sat next to him.

"Hey Roger..?"

"Maurice?"

"Do you…do you think we're going to be fugitives forever?" Roger looked at Maurice. "What I mean is…well…we're going to be wanted forever…always on the run…"

"Maurice…you didn't have to come, you know. You can always go back…you don't have to stay."

Maurice looked at Roger, a bit hurt.

"Roger," Maurice put his arm around his friend's shoulder. Roger looked at it, raising an eyebrow. "Listen, I'm not going to abandon you. Just cause you made a…a few bad choices along the way, Imma stick with you. I mean…I'd like to go home once in a while, but that's fine." He looked down at the rocks by their feet. "We could…we could be like..robbers."

"Robbers?"

"Hey we did it once before, we can do it again. And anyway, robbers are the ones that murder." Roger blinked.

"And you know this-"

Maurice pulled a book out of his small shoulder bag he had. Roger took it.

"Huckleberry Finn?"

"Yes!"

Roger's eyes narrowed. Maurice smirked, and removed his arm from Roger's shoulders.

"Lessgo."

***

After walking for what seemed like days, sleeping in the leaves, and running out of food, they duo thought it'd be smart to go into the nearest town.

"Where are we?"

"I dunno." Roger squinted. The town didn't looked familiar, nor did anyone.

"Well I don't think anyone here will recognize us! So it's all good. Let's find something to eat!"

"You really like food…"

Maurice grinned, acknowledging. "Come on."

Roger followed Maurice, looking sullen. A few people stared, a small group of young children moved away. Roger sneered. _People._

Maurice's quiet gleeful squeak signaled food. Roger looked up at the sign above his head. SIWARD CAFÉ. Sounded good enough.

Maurice walked in, shaking slightly. Roger rolled his eyes. A young waiter came up to them.

"Be with you in just a minute." Maurice nodded. Roger looked around at the people in the café. There was a couple, the lady was extremely thin, and the man was average, with sandy short hair. Then there were a group of three girls, decked out in jewelry and makeup, chatting annoyingly about God knows what. Then there was a mom and a daughter, an older couple, a younger tech-y looking man, and two elderly ladies. Roger's eyes wandered outside. Across the street was a park. There were small kids playing there, all about the ages of 3-7. Some were on swings, others pushing each other down the slide, some in the dirt. There were groups of mother watching. There was also a couple dads, some more annoying looking girls, and-

"Maurice."

"Mm?"

"I'll be right back."

Maurice turned. "Wha-" But Roger was already gone.

***

Roger made his way across the street, rather quickly, not keeping his eyes off his designated target. He hid behind a bush, and waited. Nothing happened. Moving silently, he stalked up behind a certain someone. He was sitting on a boulder, staring into nothing, not even blinking. Roger moved right behind him, and grabbed his shoulders. He pulled him off the rock, forcing him to gasp upon impact. Pinning his shoulders to the ground, he got on top of him, staring into his terrified, shocked eyes. Roger's mouth widened into a savage grin.

"Hey Ralph."


	7. Chapter VII

**Sorry I haven't updated in a while. I felt the need to so in my haste I came up with this. The first part I had written a little while ago, but never got around to finishing this until today. I know the beginning is a bit cliche, but I thought it kind of fit. ****There's quite a few subtle references to other characters from other stories in this chapter, mainly how their personalities. **

**This chapter is kind of like a filler or something, it's not done well at all, but I'm slowly coming out of a writer's block...so deal with me please? Thanks.**

**R&R!**

*******

"Really guys?" Ralph stood over Sam and Eric, both whose faces were in the process of being smeared with fruit derived paint. Sam looked up at him; Eric was still focused on the paint.

"Well it's not like we want to.."

"It's just-"

"Jack is making us."

"He's awfully scary."

Sam nodded in agreement while creating a white streak down Eric's arm. Ralph scowled.

"Come on, he has enough hunters already!"

Sam and Eric were focused on painting each other. Ralph couldn't be sure whether they were ignoring him or not. He raised his lip into a snarl.

"He has enough hunters, and we have enough bloody pigs! Don't tell me I'm losing you guys too."

"You're not losing us; you don't have to worry about that. Besides, it's not pigs this time."

"Well same thing for the be-" Ralph stopped. He noticed the peculiarity in Eric's way of speaking. It was full. Sam stopped painting, he noticed the same thing.

"Eric…?" Eric stood. Ralph's hair raised on end, the air was cold. "Eric?" He reached out and took hold of Eric's shoulder and whipped the small boy around. His eyes were full, deathly black. Ralph started back and tripped over a root. Sam stood, his eyes were the same. Eric started towards Ralph, Sam was in the back, grinning cynically.

"Come on Ralph, have some fun." Eric's eyes began streaming, running down his face.

Ralph stifled a scream and got up, running into the dark foliage. He didn't care where he was going, so long as he got away from the demonic possession. He came full sprint into a clearing and stopped dead. In the clearing were numerous black masses, unmoving. Ralph was frozen, unmoving; nothing could sense his invisible vibrations. After standing for what seemed like hours, Ralph moved forward. He gasped, the black masses were pigs. Though they were mannequins. He reached out for one, but not before his ears burned with screaming. Instinctly curious, he peered out of the trees, to where the screaming was happening. In the clearing was his camp, his poorly built shelters strewn everywhere. There were silhouettes on top of something, ripping and tearing. Screams echoed off the trees, and blood was everywhere, but it was mesmerizing to Ralph's murky blue eyes. He saw things flying, one of which landed near him. He strained his eyes, which snapped back in horror. Upon the ground were broken glasses, streaked with black. A scream managed to escape his throat, but was quickly covered by his protecting hand. But the screaming had stopped, and was heard by the largest of the masses. Its bat-like ears raised and, flesh in mouth, started slowly towards Ralph, snarling as it went.

Ralph stayed rooted, sweat rolling down his face. The other silhouettes noticed, and watched from the back. It made its way closer to Ralph, into a patch of the hell-ish beach flooded with calming moonlight. It was a like a dog, hyena-like, eyes inky black, covered in blood. Its mane was red.

Ralph managed a squeak. "..Jack?" The hyena smiled scathingly. A scream tore out of Ralph's chest, he was sprinting. The sound of cackling could be heard behind him, and he took refuge in a thicket. Panting heavily he heard the tribe pass, and sighed. He leaned back, assuming he was safe, and looked up into the face of a toothed, red smile. His eyes froze in his head, his blonde hair stuck to his head. The animal had a black mane, its eyes were black, but it seemed more demonic than the other. Ralph knew who it was, but wasn't able to mutter it before falling into black.

***

Ralph awoke to slate-grey eyes peering into his. Ralph was shocked in silence as Roger glared devilishly at him.

"What do we do with 'im?" Ralph started at this voice, which to his odd relief was only Maurice. "Do we take him prisoner? Let him go? …kill him?" Roger got off Ralph and ran his hand through his hair.

"Christ I don't know…"

"Well…." Maurice's 'well' was prolonged, and was then followed by what sounded like paper rustling. Roger turned to see Maurice's nose in the brown hugged book that is Huckleberry Finn. Roger blinked and sighed, putting his hand over his eyes.

"Seriously?"

Maurice replied without taking his face out of the book. "What?"

"What is looking at that book going to do for us? I've read it!"

"Wow really? I don't really see you as the reading type."

Roger narrowed his eyes. Maurice didn't notice. "I read a lot."

"Well then that's good for you." Roger rolled his eyes and focused his eyes downward, contemplating. A few minutes went by filled with nothing but turning of pages.

"We could always just let him go or something, I mean, if we threaten him…I don't believe he'd tell…would you Ralph?" Maurice looked at the adjacent blonde, who was still lying on the ground, shivering. Maurice liked Ralph, but its obvious Roger didn't. Ralph turned his head towards Maurice, his eyes were glassy. Maurice felt the need to repeat himself. "You wouldn't tell, would you?" Ralph looked from Maurice to Roger, whose eyes were slits.

"..N-no…I wouldn't…" Maurice jumped up, causing both Ralph and Roger to start.

"See! Now lets go!" Maurice gathered up his book and turned.

"Maurice, don't be stupid. You really trust him?"

Maurice blinked. "Well yeah."

"Why?"

"'Cause he wasn't really ever the deceitful type, for the time I knew him at least, from what I saw. He always seemed truthful and reliable…not like Jack 'n-" Maurice caught himself, and blushed a little. "Well..he's just honest. So yeah..I trust him." But Roger didn't.

"We're taking him with us."

Maurice was shocked. "Why?"

"I just don't trust him…"

Maurice looked at Roger. _Do you trust anyone?_

"No."

Maurice immediately straightened his back, his eyes widening. Roger hadn't noticed, he kept talking.

"We can't just take him…someone would suspect or something…we need to make a…a..what is it called? A um..like a ruse or something." His eyes wandered and rested on Maurice's copy of Huck Finn. "Make it look like he died. Or killed himself."

Maurice shook his head.

"Why not?"

"I say we just take him! Confuse these people."

"Do you really need to make this harder? Can't we just go with my plan so no one will search and possibly find us?"

Maurice shrugged.

"Where's the fun in that?"

*******

**Subtle references.**


End file.
